Soap and Water
by Artemisdesari
Summary: Smut. Shameless, useless smut. You know the drill, Dean's in the shower, Cas pays a brief visit. PWP ensues. Dean/Cas, brief mention of Dean/Lisa. M/M. One shot


_Ahh, dear Anon has made another request. Anon, I hope this was something like you asked for. There's probably spoilers for anything season 6 aired, I'd rather blanket warn than not. Obviously it's Dean/Cas, Castiel/Dean, Destiel, whatever you want to call it so if you don't like a little man on man action there's a fantastic little button in the top left hand corner of the screen._

_**Disclaimer:** For my own entertainment (and the needs of my rather warped mind) I've borrowed them. I was even cleaning Dean but he got all dirty again. I might have to borrow him a while longer to clean him up. That said, really I _am_ only_ borrowing_ them and I'll return them to Kripke's toybox shortly. Everyone should know how to share though.  
_

Soap and Water.

Dean is tired, he aches. Since leaving Lisa's he has come to see how much more vicious, how much more violent, the things that go bump in the night have become. It is tiring, painful, his muscles scream and his bones cry. He is aware that he is not as young as he once was, that he is not as conditioned to the life as he once was. A year with Lisa has caused him to grow soft, slowed his reflexes and dimmed his senses. A year with Lisa gave him more normalcy, more moments of utter contentment than he has felt in a lifetime on the road with his family. It has given him something to almost make the last 2 years, 42 years, maybe worth it, worth something.

Except they are not, not by a long shot, because even though he had normal and family and content moments, it has always been missing more than Sam and more than hunting.

Some nights he would wake, still wakes, to the haunting image of fiery blue eyes and chapped lips where there should be brown and soft. Hard planes where there should be gentle curves. Cas where there should be Lisa. He has never mentioned it to anyone.

Tired as he is the thoughts of the angel bring him the first tendrils of arousal. It also brings a stab of guilt as he trails a soapy hand down his chest, thoughts of blue eyes and unruly dark hair replacing that of the woman who took him in. Lisa gave him a home when he needed it, understands what he needs and what he is and accepts him for it. The least he could do is remain faithful to her. In reality he is perfectly capable of it, but in his _mind_... In his mind he lets himself give in to that desire and want that he knows is forbidden to him.

By the time he takes his half hard cock in his hand his other has drifted to play with a nipple, twisting and flicking at the tiny nub to send sparks of pleasure to pool at the base of his spine. All the while he strokes himself under the flow of heated water. This is familiar, a return to normal after a year of strange. It is a regular pull and twisting massage of sensation that quickly leaves him gasping and frantic with the faintest whisper of an angel's name on his lips as he drives himself closer and closer. It is a sated moment that is denied to him as the shower curtain is torn back and cold air floods in.

Dean turns, surprise and the sudden chill doing little to dim that arousal which has brought him this far. The eyes he sees are hard, blue that is almost drowned by the darkness of blown pupils. The hunter takes a moment to worry, to wonder, as Castiel's hand closes around his arm. The angel all but flings him from the hot water, forcefully depositing him upon the closed toilet. There are no words beyond Dean's baffled exhale of his friend's name.

Castiel towers over the hunter, sharp eyes taking in everything and his tongue darting out to sweep across his lips. Dean's own eyes follow that path, watching as Cas leans closer. He is not aware of the movement of the angel's hand until it closes around his aching erection, drawing his attention back to his activities before the interruption and pulling a strangled moan from his lips.

"Is _this_ what you wanted, Dean?" Cas hisses into his ear, voice low, rough and dark and Dean _wants_. "Did you think I hadn't noticed?" He questions as his hand twists slightly on the up stroke, thumb flicking to smear precum across the head as he moves his hand down once more. The movement is confident, firm, with just the right amount of pressure to keep Dean on edge but not tip him over.

"Cas," he breathes the angel's name and he is not sure whether it is a denial or not, does not know if he is agreeing to the rhythmic movements of Castiel's hands or if he is trying to tell his friend to stop. Still, the angel halts, his hand moving away from the hunter's aching cock and coming to rest on the wall behind Dean's head.

He does not get a chance to protest this change because Castiel leans forward to press their lips together. The kiss is frantic, desperate and messy and everything that Dean has imagined it would be. The hunter licks his way into the angel's mouth, bringing his hands up to thread them through unruly dark hair and tugging slightly. Castiel groans into his mouth, nips hard at Dean's bottom lip and he makes desperate noise in the back of his throat.

Dean wants, needs, so badly now. Needs Castiel's hands, needs Castiel's mouth, needs something, anything, to bring an end to his arousal. He is pulling the angel closer, pushing himself up into him, trying anything to get a little friction and finally Cas takes notice of his needy whines and tugging hands. The end of the kiss is as abrupt as the beginning, a loss that is almost immediately rectified as the angel trails his lips down Dean's still damp body, tongue flicking out to taste the water and sweat that slides down him.

Finally, _finally_, Castiel licks up the underside of Dean's cock, swirls his tongue around the head and presses a kiss there before taking the hunter's erection into his mouth. Dean cannot help it, he bucks up into the warmth and the wet. It is what he has needed for so long, longer than he even wants to admit, and he knows he will not last long, not with the way that Cas hollows his cheeks and moves his head. The way that the angel lets Dean shove his hand into thick, dark, hair and push a little more viciously than he could with a human. The soft moans that vibrate through his erection and the frantic movement of Castiel's hand as he strokes himself in time with the pace he has set only makes it all that much better.

True to his mangled conclusions, Dean does not last. Everything explodes in light and sound, obscenities coupled with blasphemies mixed with the angel's name spill from his lips. Everything is forgotten, ignored in this moment, this perfect bliss. Briefly, his mind registers Castiel's own groan as he reaches release, the rush of air as skin cools and the distant pounding of water long run cold. His mind has faltered, stopped, sluggishly trying to restart and process what has happened as Cas kisses him a final time, allowing Dean to taste himself on the angel's tongue. It should feel utterly wrong, he should say something, but there is nothing to be said and no chance to say it.

Castiel is gone with the faintest whisper of unseen wings.

_Uh, yeah, I'm gonna go hide in a corner now and wonder why I found that so easy to write on a bus sat next to an old woman. She may have been reading over my shoulder. I'm going to the special hell aren't I?_

_Artemis  
_


End file.
